


The Masks We Must Wear

by MaryPSue



Category: Guardians of Childhood - William Joyce, Rise of the Guardians (2012)
Genre: Angst, Community: rotg_kink, Gen, and apparently manipulative douchebaggery runs in Manny's family, in which Koz has Pitch's powers but his own mind
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-03-08
Updated: 2013-03-08
Packaged: 2017-12-04 15:20:43
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 876
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/712227
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/MaryPSue/pseuds/MaryPSue
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>A world without fear is a world with its own kind of darkness. There must be balance. </p><p>What no one ever mentions is the price that must be paid to maintain it.</p>
            </blockquote>





	The Masks We Must Wear

**Author's Note:**

> For this kinkmeme prompt: http://rotg-kink.dreamwidth.org/2389.html?thread=3896405#cmt3896405
> 
> Could also be seen as a sequel to this: http://archiveofourown.org/works/697482

"The Andromedans are causing trouble again."

"I don't see how that's any concern of mine." Clipped. Precise. A voice used to command.

"They're refusing to pay the tribute. Want to secede."

"Again, I fail to see how this involves me." There's a rustle, almost too faint to be heard, from the shadows behind the Tsar, and he has to suppress the shiver that runs down his spine. True, he's grateful that the General wasn't outright killed by the fearlings when they made their prison break, but the thing they transformed him into instead still sets the Tsar's teeth on edge. Even the knowledge that Pitchiner is as tame as a dog on a leash doesn't help, and the dark chuckle that echoes out of the darkness serves as a painful reminder. "Now, if the Andromedans were under attack, I might be persuaded to offer my services, but the political games are strictly your domain."

"The Andromedans aren't under attack," the Tsar says, weighing his words carefully. "Perhaps if they were, they'd remember why they need the protections of the Golden Army."

There's a hiss of indrawn breath from behind him, and the Tsar tries to pretend he doesn't see the angry shapes that the shadows coil into on the walls of his cabin, doesn't hear the faint and unpleasant echo to the words that seep low and oily out of their depths. "You want me to be your enforcer."

"I want you to uphold the oath you swore, to protect our Golden Age." Appealing to the General's finer feelings when he is so absorbed in his shadows might not be the wisest tactic. "Now that our safety is once again threatened by the fearlings and Dream Pirates, we need to stand together more than ever." He doesn't mention whose fault it is that the Golden Age is, once again, facing its old foes. Doesn't have to.

"Not at the cost of tyranny." The voice from the shadows sounds more like the General he knew, although strained. "I did not return from the prison planet for this."

"Then what did you return for?" the Tsar asks, and the shadows go quiet. "We need you to help keep peace amongst the Constellations. Without a common enemy - without your nightmares - we get..." He sighs, looking up at the soft glow of lights on the map suspended in midair before him. "This. Infighting. Secession. Constellation against constellation. War." His mind, as it has done so often lately, flickers back to the hospital bed, his wife's tired smile, the bundle wrapped firmly and securely in her arms. "And in the middle of a war, it's so hard to protect a single child."

The response he gets isn't so much an angry hiss as a muffled scream. "You dare? You, with your son barely two days old, you _dare_ threaten my daughter like that?"

When the Tsar turns, he finds himself looking into golden eyes, and has to suppress a shudder. "I'm not threatening your daughter, General. The Andromedans are. Their arrogance will topple us all, if left unchecked. I'm sure you of all people are familiar with the concept?"

The only response he gets is a snarl, a flash of silver fangs in the darkness before the golden eyes wink out. Perhaps he's finally pushed Pitchiner too far. "We need you," he tries, pressing on when he gets no response. "We need your fear. Teach the Andromedans caution. Keep the Constellations in check. Keep us from destroying ourselves."

The Tsar almost doesn't hear the General's next words, as low and as quiet as they are. "And this is how you would have me serve you?"

"Not me," the Tsar is quick to correct him. "But all of us."

"I am yours to command," Pitchiner answers, in that same low voice, but there's a current of anger underneath it, dark and furious and frightening. "By tomorrow evening, the Andromedans should be clamouring to pay your tribute."

The shadows coiled around the back of the cabin begin to retreat, losing some of their darkness and their menace. The Tsar can't help the sigh of relief that slips from his throat unbidden.

"But know this," the General's voice whispers in his ear, and the Tsar freezes, his limbs locking into place, refusing to obey his commands. "I am a monster, and I am still a better man than you." His voice grows louder as he backs away from the paralyzed Tsar. "And one day, I hope I get to teach you what it means to fear for your child."

It's several minutes after the General leaves and the atmosphere in the cabin returns to normal, that the Tsar finally finds himself able to breathe properly once more. He's both astonished and, somehow, not surprised at all to find that his cheeks are damp with the comet-trails of tears.

He turns back to the map, the lights of the Constellations, so bright, so fragile, so easily snuffed, and his mind flies back to the hospital, the light in his wife's eyes as she looks down on the slumbering face of their son. So bright. So fragile.

Tsar Lunanoff does not need to be taught what it means to fear for his child. He already knows.


End file.
